


Okay, So Being Kidnapped is (Arguably) Worse than Plane Rides

by dragonfishwrites



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Peter Parker, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Whump, anxiety and spidey senses don't mix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29966985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonfishwrites/pseuds/dragonfishwrites
Summary: Peter's eyes were on the other vacationers, scanning the crowd for the person that was making him feel so unsafe. This part of the beach was mostly deserted, though. Someone looked to be asleep on her beach towel, someone else completely lost in a book. No one was looking at them. He spied a leisure boat nearby, and for some reason that made his heart thump hard in his throat."May," he whispered, panicked and frustrated that he couldn't identify the source of the threat. "Somethings-"White hot pain exploded at the back of his head, and for a split second terror took over his entire being. Then, everything stopped.Or: Peter and the terrible horrible no good very bad vacation
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70
Collections: 2021 Irondad Sprint Event





	Okay, So Being Kidnapped is (Arguably) Worse than Plane Rides

**Author's Note:**

> uhh fair warning the bad guy says the r word at one point.  
> (author is autistic)

The plane ride was torture, to be quite honest. Peter had never been particularly secretive about his fear of flying; people knew about him, about his parents. He had a perfectly good excuse. (Not to mention the absolute disaster that happened on the plane back in October.) So, he felt perfectly fine ignoring the stares from fellow passengers as he gripped May's hand in both of his, rocking slightly in his seat during takeoff and landing. No, the plane ride definitely wasn't fun, but he didn't cry and he only went through two airsickness bags, so Peter called it a success. He also hoped (stupidly) that it would be the worst part of this trip. He should've learned by now, Peter thought, that Parkers shouldn't hope for things.

He knew something was off when they arrived at the motel. As soon as they got out of the taxi his Spidey senses were buzzing so intensely it made the back of his head itch, but they had a tendency to go off for no reason when he was anxious, so (like an idiot) he ignored it. Really, Peter's anxiety had been through the roof lately, and since SI had started paying him for his lab work, he was eager to go on his first vacation ever. Peter and May would stay in the motel by the beach for two days, and then take a car up to Mr. Stark's summer home so Peter could get some lab time while Pepper helped May out with organizing her next charity event. It was all very exciting, and Peter would've been over the moon about it- except for the fact that his stupid brain seemed _convinced_ something horrible was about to happen. 

"Why don't you go take a shower?" May offered when Peter got overwhelmed with unpacking and switched to pacing the length of the little motel room. He knew she meant it as more of an order than a question- it had become a sort of routine over the years. Showering had always been calming, like a hard reset for his senses, and since the bite he found the shower was one of the only places he felt warm enough. So, when he got overwhelmed and panicky, if he didn't think to go and shower, May would remind him. 

Peter bounced on his toes a little, thinking, before giving a little nod and retrieving a fresh set of clothes from the pile he'd dumped out of his suitcase. She didn't scold him when he chewed on his nails while selecting a shirt, nor when he tugged at his hair while he shuffled on the balls of his feet over to the bathroom, so he guessed he was pretty visibly stressed out. Once he was alone in the bathroom, though, he realized something was _definitely_ wrong. As he moved to unbutton his jeans he noticed his senses, which had been buzzing obnoxiously in the back of his head this entire time, abruptly flooded his consciousness and made his ears ring. He zipped his pants right back up, and- he knew this feeling, from months of practice getting changed in empty alleyways. If his senses were going off when he tried to undress it meant... oh, no.

It meant he was being watched. There was a camera in here.

Peter, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, gathered his clothes and strolled back into the room, where May was giving him an unmistakable "worried guardian" look. 

"I changed my mind, I don't feel like showering right now. I want to go for a walk."

"Are you sure?" May asked, rising from her bed and eyeing him carefully. "You don't want to calm down first?"

"No, I want to walk. Walking will calm me down," he insisted, and _please, May, don't argue, I really don't want to explain myself in a room that's most definitely bugged._

"Okay," May relented. "Let's go."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Peter was embarrassed to be fifteen (almost sixteen!) years old and holding May's hand for the second time that day, but she seriously wasn't walking fast enough and he _wanted to get away from that motel._ He hadn't switched to sandals and the feeling of sand in his shoes was making him a little sick, and he could feel May staring at him and wondering if he couldn't handle a vacation so far away from home after all. He waited until they'd probably made it almost a mile down the beach before he turned around and told her,

"There was a camera in the bathroom. I think the whole room is bugged." May's eyes blew wide open, her jaw hanging slack for a brief moment before she responded.

"Are you sure?" She searched Peter's eyes and he let her, staring hard at her left eyebrow because lord knows he was way to stressed to attempt any kind of eye contact right now.

"That or there's a peephole," he answered, letting go of May so he could wring his hands. "I just know for sure someone was watching us. We can't stay there." May nodded, processing the information. 

"Let's go get our stuff then, and we can find another place to stay for the weekend." Peter bit his lip, hesitant to go anywhere near that building again with his Spidey senses still going crazy, but he knew they couldn't just abandon their belongings. 

"Okay," he agreed, and they turned around to begin their trek back up the beach. 

They walked for about ten minutes, silent except for Peter's nervous humming, when he stopped and grabbed May's arm, assaulted by a second round of ringing in his ears. She turned and gave him a questioning look, but Peter's eyes were on the other vacationers, scanning the crowd for the person that was making him feel so unsafe. This part of the beach was mostly deserted, though. Someone looked to be asleep on her beach towel, someone else completely lost in a book. No one was looking at them. He spied a leisure boat nearby, and for some reason that made his heart thump hard in his throat.

"May," he whispered, panicked and frustrated that he couldn't identify the source of the threat. "Somethings-"

White hot pain exploded at the back of his head, and for a split second terror took over his entire being. Then, everything stopped.

\---

Consciousness came back to him in pieces, at first. He could smell rotting wood, could feel his head throbbing and stomach turning. He faded away. 

His own yelp of pain woke him up next. He wasn't sure why, at first, until the foot came back, pummeling into his ribs a second time. 

"I know you're awake, boy," someone growled, and yeah, he was, but he couldn't get his body to work, couldn't even remember how to open his eyes. The foot came back a third time and Peter felt something crack right before he blacked out again.

The third time he woke up, he woke up properly. The foot was gone, thank god, although once Peter assessed his current situation he really didn't feel better. He was laid on his back on a wood floor, with his legs bound and hands tied to a support pillar. He could still hear waves crashing outside, so he couldn't have been taken too far, right? He could feel a goose egg on the back of his head pressing into the floor, and the pain pulsing from it made him nervous to open his eyes. And then the foot came back, crashing into his already very obviously broken ribs, and the voice quickly followed.

"Up!" _Kick_. "Wake UP!" The man kicked again, and Peter let out an unexpected sob, prying his eyes open.

"I'm awake, I'm awake, _please,"_ Peter begged, humiliated at how quickly he'd been reduced to tears. He was supposed to be a superhero, for Christ's sake. He gazed up at his captor- captors? There were two-three- no, two- one? There was one man hovering over him, the owner of the foot, he assumed. The man was clean shaven, dressed in a golf shirt and Bermuda shorts, of all things. He stared right back down at Peter, looking like he was under the impression Peter had some sort of an idea what he'd done to deserve this. Peter just laid their for a moment, working his jaw around a question that he couldn't quite seem to shape into words, desperately wishing he could move around and clear his head a little. Finally, after a few more ugly cries escaped him, he found his voice.

"Why?" he asked, cringing internally at how whiney and childish it came out. 

"Tell me about the AI," the man demanded. 

"About- _what?_ " AI? Which one? Peter hadn't been wearing his suit, he didn't even _bring_ the damn thing. There was no way Golf Shirt Guy _knew_ , right? The foot went for his hip this time, and while he supposed it was a refreshing change from his ribs, Peter still gasped out in pain. 

"Stark's AI, boy, we know you work for him. He built the Vision, and now he's made himself another AI. _Why?_ " Several things jumped to mind at that moment, namely the fact that technically Mr. Stark didn't _make_ Vision, at least not on purpose. He didn't say that, though, because he was getting the impression giving this guy any information at all was a bad idea. The second thing that came to mind was the fact that he was most definitely concussed earlier- he was sure of it, because his mouth was watering and something warm was quickly rising in his throat. 

"I'm gonna throw up," he told his captor, praying the man would at least let him sit up. No such luck. The damned foot went for his ribs again, and Peter vomited straight upwards, sick coating his face and neck. He coughed harshly, choking as vomit washed back into his throat, unable to move without breaking his restraints and revealing his powers.

"I told you," another voice piped up from somewhere else in the room. "The kid's a retard. He's not going to talk." Fresh tears pricked in Peter's eyes as Golf Shirt Guy grabbed him by the wrists, pulling him up just enough to allow him to turn his head and spit out the remaining barf. 

"He's Stark's _personal_ intern, Rob," Golf Shirt Guy insisted. "He's got to be a genius."

"Or a charity case," the other guy- Rob, Peter reminded himself- muttered. Peter _hated_ being talked about this way, even if he was all too used to hearing this type of shit from bullies at school. Something inside of him wanted to talk, to prove that he _was_ a genius, he _did_ deserve his internship, but if this would make the kicking stop... 

"I don't know anything," Peter announced. "Mr. Stark just helps me with my tuition, that's all."

"Your tuition?" Golf Shirt Guy pressed.

"Yeah. I go to, um... I go to an AP science school, and I met Mr. Stark through a financial aid program. I'm not allowed in his lab or anything, the internship is just PR for the program." Peter fought the urge to wince as he lied, hearing how fake it sounded once it was out of his mouth. Golf Shirt Guy hummed and levelled him with an infuriatingly unreadable expression. 

"Heard anything from Johnny, Rob?" he asked, turning around to where Rob must've been sitting. "Is the bitch talking?"

"About as much as the kid, I think," Rob answered. "Does your mommy work for Stark too, boy?"

"She's not-" Peter cut himself off. These assholes didn't deserve to know anything about him, about his family. "She doesn't work for him. They've only met a couple of times." That must've frustrated Golf Shirt Guy, because suddenly the foot was back. His hip, his ribs, his shoulder- ow, ow, ow.

"Kev!" Rob interrupted. "The kid's useless if you kill him."

"He fucking knows something!" Kev yelled, and Peter's vision whited out for a moment when he stomped on his groin. "He's playing dumb, the little shit."

"Then we wait 'til he's worn down," Rob answered, and Peter could hear a chair creak as he presumably sat down. 

"Yeah, after all torturing a child is a super fun way to spend your summer vacation," Peter blurted out, snapping his mouth shut when it earned him another kick. The pain consumed him after that, and he passed out.

\---

The sun was lower in the sky when he came to again, and Peter couldn't see Kev hovering over him. He was hungry. He needed to pee. It hurt so much to breathe, Peter was pretty sure his ribs were healing at all sorts of weird angles. Desperate for some sort of non-pain-related stimulation, Peter scrunched his face a couple of times, cringing when he felt the crusty dried vomit around his mouth. He'd been sick three times today- with the speed of his metabolism, it was no wonder he couldn't keep himself awake.

Peter blinked and suddenly it was night, and someone new was in his field of vision.

"Rob?" he wondered, unable to filter himself as his exhaustion frayed his sense of self around the edges. The man snorted.

"Nice to meet you, kid," he said, moving to do something with Peter's hands. "You gonna talk for me?"

"I don't know anything," Peter said automatically. He heard Rob huff, and then startled as his head was abruptly moved upwards. He tried hard to focus his brain on something, _anything_ , to help him figure out what was going on, but his brain was so fuzzy. His stomach growled loudly and Rob was doing something with his hands again, tugging at his shoulders and aggravating the pain in his chest. 

Finally, Rob moved back into Peter's field of vision. He was holding a water bottle.

"If you answer my questions," he began, widening his eyes like he was talking to a toddler, "you can have some water. Okay?" Peter _really_ didn't want to talk to this guy, but... god, water. Maybe if he had a little water, he could think. He could come up with a way out of this. He raised his head to get a better look at Rob, and... oh! He could raise his head! Peter realized what Rob had been doing all this time. He'd been moving him to a sitting position. 

"Yeah, see? I'm nice. You behave yourself, you get nice things from me. Now will you talk? Kev's not here right now, he won't hurt you." Peter blinked, processing. God, he wanted that water. He nodded. "Good, good," Rob cooed, his sickly sweet voice dripping with dishonesty. "Now. Do you work for Tony Stark?" Peter nodded, and the water bottle appeared at his mouth, pouring in a small mouthful. A little dribbled out before Peter managed to remember how to swallow, and his heart sunk a little at the waste. "Have you seen the Vision?" Rob continued. Peter shook his head. He could get away with lying, he figured, if he wasn't actually talking. It's hard to mess up shaking your head, right? The water bottle appeared again, pouring him another small mouthful. Peter swallowed it all this time. "And the new AI, what's its name?" Shit, this one wasn't a yes-or-no. 

"Don't know," Peter lied, and Rob huffed in frustration. The water bottle didn't appear this time. Still, his head was the teensiest bit clearer, and Peter was working on a plan.

"Does Stark have other interns?" Peter shook his head no, fidgeting as he woke up a little more and became more aware of his discomfort. His ribs were killing him, and he really needed a bathroom. Maybe if he behaved, Rob would let him get up.

"You're the only one then, huh?" Peter nodded, flexing his fingers behind his back. "What makes you special, then?" Peter stared at his knees, thinking. Flexed his fingers again, twisted a little against his restraints. Rob nudged his leg. "And don't try making up another story."

"Um... well, I'm smart," Peter began, trying hard to come up with something to say that didn't give anything away but wouldn't exercise his shitty lying skills. He drew a blank, his vision beginning to split again reminding him of the blunt object that obviously hit him _very hard_ on the head earlier. 

"You're smart," Rob repeated, the amusement in his eyes obvious even to Peter. "And yet you don't know anything at all about Stark Industries, huh? Nothing about the company you work for?" Peter lowered his chin to his chest, and Rob smacked him on the side of the head. He stalked away, taking the water bottle with him, and sunk down into the armchair across the room.

"Please, I need to go to the bathroom. Can I at least go to the bathroom?" he whined. 

"Bathrooms are for talkers," Rob replied, already distracted with something on his phone. Peter squirmed a little, and watched for Rob's reaction. There wasn't one. Next, he wiggled his hands, slowly, carefully. No reaction. Perfect. In this new position, while still bound, his hands had the tiniest bit more mobility. Just enough that he could reach the buttons on his watch and click once, twice, three times. The tracker was on, now. He just had to survive long enough for someone to notice he was missing. Then, his vision went dark again, and his strength left him.

\---

Peter woke up wetting himself. His throat burned with the urge to cry, but he knew he was already dehydrated- he couldn't waste any more water on his tears.

"You really are a child, huh?" spat a voice. Kev's voice. Oh, no. Peter looked up- there was a little more light now- it must've been early morning. There was an old, rundown kitchen to his right, and the wood of the floor and walls was cracked and rotted. At one point, Peter thought, this place must have been someone's summer cottage. "You ready to talk now?" Kev prompted. Honestly Peter was feeling pretty confident he wouldn't be able to talk even if he wanted to. His head was foggy, his throat dry, and he was beyond overstimulated from pain and discomfort. Kev smacked Peter's head against the pillar he was tied to, snapping him to attention. "What does Stark pay you to do?" Peter thought he might actually be able to come up with a decent answer for that one, but he opened his mouth and- yup. It was like there was a wall between his brain and his mouth. Perfect time for a nonverbal episode. Thanks, Brain! At the lack of answer, Kev kicked him hard in the knee. He felt a hand grab at his chin and shake, prompting him to pry his eyes open again. Kev was waving a pocket knife in his face, and distantly Peter felt afraid, but the fog was taking over again and he knew he wouldn't be awake much longer. Kev's voice floated into his consciousness again and Peter couldn't even make sense of the words. A sharp pain stung his cheek a moment later. He whined in the back of his throat, lacking the energy to even flinch away. The question repeated, and Peter gave up trying to hold back his tears. Kev cut his forehead this time. And so it went.

\---

It looked like late afternoon the next time Peter woke up, and everything was unbearable. He could feel dried blood all over his face and chest, mixing with yesterday's vomit. His ribs were still poking at his lungs, his head hurt more than what Peter had thought was physically possible. He could feel a rash on his bottom from sitting in pee. He moaned involuntarily, far to weak to lift his head.

"It's alright, kid, I'm almost done," someone said from behind him, and- oh, thank god.

"M-muughhh. S-t-hmmm," Peter moaned.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me," Mr. Stark replied, voice low. He finished untying Peter's hands, and his shoulders were flooded with a sudden influx of pain from being in the same position for so long. "I've got you. We have a car waiting outside. I'm going to pick you up, okay?" Too fuzzy to answer verbally, Peter levelled Mr. Stark with a rare moment of direct eye contact, hoping it would get his answer across. "Hey bud," Mr. Stark said, smiling a little at seeing some level of awareness in Peter's eyes. "Okay, here we go." His body screamed as Mr. Stark scooped him up into his arms, whispering apologies in his ear when he whined from the pain. Once he was up he rested his head on Tony's shoulder, his Spidey senses quiet for the first time in a good 30 hours. He let himself sleep again, knowing he was safe. 

He woke up in a hospital bed this time. He still felt fuzzy, but a different kind of fuzzy- _pain meds_ , he thought blearily. He could feel several sets of stitches in his skin and an IV in his arm. The moment he pried his eyes open there was a hand in his hair, a soothing voice in his ear.

"Hey, buddy. You're alright. You're alright now."

"Mmmm," Peter moaned, throat far too dry to form the word he wanted. Like magic, a straw appeared on his bottom lip, prompting his mouth open. The straw stayed until he had taken several sips, and then disappeared. A moment later, Tony's hand was back in his hair.

"May?" Peter whispered, now that his voice was working a little better.

"Just me, kiddo," Tony replied leaning forward so his face was in Peter's field of vision.

"No," Peter whined, that wasn't what he meant. "Where?"

"We're back in New York. Took a helicopter back to the Tower." Peter furrowed his brow, unsure if Tony was avoiding the question or he just genuinely didn't understand. 

"Where," Peter repeated, smacking his lips as he tried to get his brain to formulate the question. "Where is May?" Tony let out a slow, heavy exhale and Peter's heart dropped.

"We're still looking for her. Happy's out with a bunch of agents searching." The petting stopped, Tony moving to hold Peter's hand instead. "We're going to find her soon, kid, I promise." Before Peter knew it, he felt tears trickling down his temples, tickling his ears. He was fading again, exhaustion and medication quickly eating away at his consciousness. When he spoke again his voice was up an octave or two, choked and squeaky with held-back sobs.

"Hug," he begged, and then the dam broke. His ribs ached as he coughed out a few broken, hiccupping sobs, and Tony leaned forward to hug him as carefully as he possibly could. The fuzz took over once more. 

\---

Peter felt a lot more awake the next time he woke up. He was definitely getting some sort of glucose in the IV- he was actually alert this time, and his stomach felt less like it was eating itself. 

"Bathroom," he rasped. The quality of his voice had certainly seen better days. It was loud enough, though, because Tony jumped to attention, closing whatever he'd been reading on his phone and half-carried Peter into a wheelchair. Peter did his best to swallow his embarrassment when he realized he couldn't stand on his own, and Tony lifted him under the armpits to transfer from wheelchair to toilet, simply turning his back while Peter did his business.

When they made it back to his bed Tony held the straw to his mouth again while a nurse entered and fiddled with the IV bag, gave him a quick once-over, and left again.

"Have they found her?"

"Not yet," Tony replied, pulling a sympathetic face that Peter absolutely did not want to see.

"How long has it been?"

"The last time you were awake was ten hours ago. It's been about a day and a half since I found you." And just like that the tears were back, and Peter felt himself pull an ugly cry face against his will. "The guys who took you are in custody," Tony told him. "We know they're with whoever has her, and we have people going through their phones. We're close, Peter."

"But it's- she's not- she can't heal like I can," Peter cried. "They'll have killed her."

"Those guys were looking for information, they wouldn't kill her," Tony assured, but Peter was on a roll.

"I can't lose her, Tony, I can't do this again. I _can't do it._ " Peter's cries were getting harder and harder, he could hear the room's heart rate monitor picking up in speed. "It's too much, please, you have to find her _now_. I won't go to another funeral, I won't, I _can't_. Tony, I'm gonna die, I-" his sobs cut him off again, and he closed his eyes to escape the horror written all over Tony's face. He'd never broken down quite this dramatically in front of him before, and god, he sounded ridiculous, he sounded like a baby but he was just so fucking _scared_ and living without May sounded like a punishment worse than death. It was his fault, he should've known- he could've figured out what was setting his senses off if not for his _stupid bitch_ of a brain, could've protected her from all of this had he never come up with Spider-Man in the fucking first place. 

There were hands around his wrists, then, and Peter realized he'd been punching himself in the head, and he already had no idea how long he'd been crying for. Releasing is wrists, Tony resumed combing his fingers through Peter's hair, for once at a complete loss for words. Peter just let himself cry until the meds pulled him under once more.

\---

Peter didn't wake up on his own, the next time. Tony was nudging him, speaking quietly in his ear.

"Hey. Peter. Wake up, buddy." Peter cracked his eyes open, sporting a massive headache from crying. "They found her, bud. She's with Happy, on her way over in a helicopter." Peter moved to sit up on instinct, and yelped in surprise when the pain sent him straight back down. "Careful, kid. You just had surgery to fix those ribs, don't go rearranging them again." Peter forced himself to settle, to suck in a deep breath before he responded.

"Is she okay?"

"She's okay. Dehydrated, but she isn't hurt. It looks like they were a lot gentler with her than they were with you."

"Awake?"

"Last I heard, yeah." Peter picked at his fingers, immediately impatient to see her. He needed to see she was alive, hear her voice. Without a word, Tony produced a fidget cube from his pocket, depositing it in Peter's hand to put a stop to the picking.

"How long 'til they get here?" Peter asked, clicking the buttons as fast as he physically could. 

"About an hour left." 

They spent most of the hour in silence, Peter too anxious and exhausted to make conversation. Tony informed him that all four guys behind the kidnapping had been arrested, and one of them had confessed to stalking Peter with the intent to sell SI's tech and information. Peter only nodded, switching from clicking to chewing idly on the joystick of the fidget cube.

When May finally arrived, she was wheeled into the same room with Peter, having apparently kicked up a fuss about being put in a separate one. She looked exhausted, skin sallow and glasses nowhere to be seen, but she was there-alive. Her bed was placed a few feet away from Peter's, the two of them hooked up to too many machines for the beds to go perfectly side by side. Peter didn't know what to say, and it looked like May didn't either. She looked close to tears, and gave a frustrated huff when a nurse stopped her from getting up. Peter tugged on Tony's sleeve.

"Help me in the wheelchair, please," he said, his gaze flitting back and forth between Tony and May. Tony helped him into the chair and wheeled him over and once again, Peter took May's hand in both of his. The position was similar to how they'd been on the plane just a few days ago, but it was so different now. Peter moved his fingers upward just a little, to the inside of her wrist where he could feel the steady _bump, bump, bump_ of her pulse.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, because he truly couldn't think of another thing to say.

"None of this is your fault, Peter," and _wow,_ Peter's eyes immediately welled up at hearing her voice. She sounded rough, but she was there, and Tony's hand was back in his hair, and _finally,_ his Spidey senses were completely quiet.


End file.
